Page 40 of I Knew You Were Trouble

‘Well,technically,’ I reply. ‘But it’s been a while.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he says with a grin, ‘it’s like riding a bike.’

‘Ha-ha, hilarious,’ I say, sniggering despite myself. I couldn’t say if he deliberately made me laugh to dispel my rising anxiety, but it has helped.

He goes to his bike and climbs on.

‘Follow me,’ he says. ‘I will use hand signals to show which way we are going and if we come to an intersection, I’ll make sure you’re close behind me, so I don’t lose you. Okay?’

I nod. ‘Um, shouldn’t I be wearing a helmet?’ I ask.

‘Most people don’t but…’ He reaches behind him, retrieving a helmet from his left saddle bag. I take it from him and clip the strap under my chin. It’s a small thing, but it does make me feel more secure about riding through a bustling city. I only hope we’re not going far.

‘And don’t worry – it’s not far,’ he says, somehow reading my mind. ‘Only two and a half kilometres.’

‘Brilliant,’ I say brightly, trying not to let on that I’d much rather be travelling by car.

Willem sets off and I follow, a little wobbly at first, but within a couple of blocks, I get the hang of it – just like he said I would. Willem takes it slowly as we zigzag through the neighbourhood, riding along canals and crossing bridges.

It’s such a beautiful city, particularly at this time of the evening with the lights from the tall, narrow houses reflecting on the canals and the streaks of pink in the dusk sky. A handful of boats move languidly through the waterways and people of all ages are sitting outside enjoying the early spring weather – some on benches by the canals, others in front of their homes.

It’s a different pace of life here from London – calmer, as if people are more present in their lives than Londoners. Sometimes, it strikes me how frantic my life is – with my daily commute into Central London and constantly navigating the hoards, even to do something as simple as food shopping. I do love living in London – and my job – but there are times when I long for something else – a quieter life, a slower pace. Somewhere I can exhale and justbe.

Amsterdam feels like that, and I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours.

‘We’re going onto a main street now,’ Willem calls over his shoulder. ‘Stay close.’

‘Okay!’ I call out.

We turn onto a busy bike path, and I narrowly avoid colliding with an oncoming cyclist who has overtaken someone. Right as I brace myself for impact, he slips back onto the correct side, his expression unfazed.

More cyclists fly straight at me, careening out of my path at the last second, and others zip past us, their handlebars only inches from mine. This is the bike path from hell. One wrong move and I’ll go arse over tit, land in the road, and get squashed by a lorry.

So much for Amsterdam’s Zen-like serenity. If I survive this bike ride, I’m buying a lottery ticket.

* * *

‘Well, that was horrible,’ I say as I dismount.

‘You did great,’ Willem replies with a laugh. He leads the way to a crowded row of parked bikes, beaming at me.

‘I didfine– not great,’ I retort. ‘And I’mthisclose’ – I hold up my thumb and forefinger a millimetre apart – ‘from dumping this bike in the canal and catching a cab back to the houseboat.’

‘They tend to frown on that – deliberately throwing your bike into the canal. Enough end up in there by accident.’

I peer into the murky water. ‘Really?’

‘Around twenty-five thousand a year.’

‘Twenty-fivethousand?’ I exclaim.

He nods.

‘Well, then what’s one more?’ I ask cheekily.

But he’s onto me, giving me a sly, narrow-eyed smile.

We slot our bikes into the haphazard row and lock them. ‘How will we remember where we parked?’ I ask, looking around for a landmark to help mark the spot.

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